


Fire and Ice

by princesskay



Category: Smallville
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan and Martha kiss and make up after a bad argument</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Ice

The leather reins felt cold in the grip of Martha Kent's hands. Snow had gathered in her hair and on the shoulders of her coat in the past half an hour, chilling her. As she walked her horse, Delia, back into the barn, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. The ride across the farm had gotten her blood pumping, working out the resentment she was feeling at the moment.   
It wasn't often that she was mad at him, but this blow-out had been especially bad. . .As it always was when it concerned the conflicting interests of him and her father. That problem had always caused a rift between them whenever it was brought up. She tried to keep the subject out of discussion, but it occasionally still rose to separate them. She hated the fact that she got mad at Jonathan when it was her own father. She should be able to deal with it, right? . . Well, apparently not, since she had ended up screaming at him.   
Martha led Delia back into her stall, removed her bridle and saddle and gave her a good brushing as she continued to contemplate the last few hours.   
Her dad had been in town for some big lawyer's convention. He wanted her to go out to the theatre and to dinner with him. It just so happened that she and Jonathan had made plans. . . very different ones. But, Martha hadn't had that kind of time with her dad in several years so she told Jonathan that she wanted to go out with her dad, and they could reschedule their date. As always, he was offended that she was choosing the man that had nearly disowned her over the man that loved and cared for her.   
The argument was still clear in her mind, their furious words slung back and forth in the heat of the moment. . . 

~

Martha descended the stairs, glancing down at her outfit. She had pulled out something nice for the night with her father. It wasn't anything too fancy, but she intended to look like what he was expecting. He still hadn't quite accepted that she had traded gala gowns and heels for jeans and work boots.  
Martha reached the hall that led to the front door when Jonathan noticed her leaving from the kitchen, “Where are you going?” He asked, “I thought we had a date tonight.”   
“I left a note.” She said, already seeing where this was heading.   
“I know.” He said, after a moment, his brows furrowing, “You couldn't tell me to my face?”  
She swallowed, “Can I just go? My dad will be waiting.”   
“Yeah, he's been waiting a long time, sitting around in his fancy office in Metropolis, all right.”  
“Jonathan-” She began, already feeling the tension seep into her muscles.   
“I still don't understand why you're doing this.” He left the kitchen to look her straight in the eyes, “He's going to be in town all week. Why can't you two do this father-daughter bonding thing another time?”  
“He's not on vacation, Jonathan.” She replied, “He has other things to do.”  
“That right. He always has other things to do.” Jonathan threw up his hands, “And still, you choose him over me. . . every time.”   
“He's my father! What do you expect me to do?”  
“And I'm your husband.” He retorted, his blue eyes flashing, “We already had plans, Martha. You can't just walk out.”  
“I can. . .and I will.” She snapped, boldly, spinning to walk out the door.   
She didn't get far before Jonathan's hand caught her arm, pulling her back, “Looks like you're starting to act just like him too.”   
“You can't say much for yourself.” She pulled her arm out of his grip, “What has gotten into you?”  
“What's gotten into me? The idea that I'm losing my wife to some bastard that kicked her to the curb!”  
“Jonathan!” Her voice rose, “Watch your mouth!”  
“See, that's exactly what I mean. You're my wife, Martha, not my mother.”  
“Well if you act like you need a mother, then maybe I should treat you that way.”   
“I'm not the one making juvenile decisions.” He jabbed his thumb at his chest, infuriated by what she was implying.   
“I'm not the one raising my voice and calling names.” She returned, feeling the anger working its way through her chest like a fire that was being fanned. Why did he always have to do this? Why did he always have to make it harder than it really was?   
“Well, don't expect me to wait up for you.” He grumbled.  
“I could care less if you waited up for me.” She spat, even though she didn't really mean it. They always waited up for each other.   
“Oh really? Now you're to the point where you don't care if I don't care?”   
She knew that had been the wrong thing to say, but it was already done. She pushed on, not especially caring at the moment whether he didn't talk to her for days or not, “This isn't even your problem.” She spread her hands, “This is between me and my father. I don't know why you're getting in the middle of this.”  
“Because I am in the middle of this, Martha. I'm your husband.”  
“Who should be supportive of his wife. I'm trying to mend my relationship with my father.”   
“Your father will always be nothing but a mean, lying son of a bitch to me!”  
Without thinking beyond the anger, Martha reached up and smacked him hard across the face, her eyes stinging with hot, upset tears.   
There was silence for several seconds. Jonathan stared at her, a red hand print forming on his cheek.  
“What if I called your father that?” She said, at last.   
“Well, I wouldn't hit you.” He rubbed his hand over his cheek, as if to wipe away the stinging.   
“Well, I'm sure you would be pretty upset. . . like I am. I am so angry with you right now. You can never respect me or my father when it comes to this. You act like my dad it forcing me into this. He's not. I can my own choices. Why can't you ever see that? I'm not just a stupid woman that has to be told what to do. I can stand up for myself.”   
“And standing up for yourself includes smacking me?” He replied, in disbelief. He was still shocked that she had actually done it.   
Martha felt the warmth of her tears on her face, but she didn't reach up to wipe them away. Let him see what he was doing to her, “Sometimes it does.” She replied, “I don't have to listen to this. I can do it again. See?”   
This time, she curled her hand into a fist and drove it into his chest. He took a step back, “All right, Martha. Its time to stop.” He said, holding his hands up.  
“Stop? This will never stop!” Her voice rose even higher, her vision blurred with fresh tears, “You will never accept my father, and he will never accept you. I am the one who is in the middle. I want both of you to love me, but how can you when you can't love each other?”  
“That is not how it is.” He said, firmly.  
“Isn't it though?” She fisted her hands at her sides, “Every time my father comes up, we fight. This happens. Every time he's in town, you turn into something just as mean as him. And now you're making me do the same thing! I just want my family to be back together. I want us to be a family!” She lunged forward, hitting his chest again, “I . . . want. . . us. . . to . . .be. . .a . . .family!” She grunted between each word, laying a blow to his chest as she went, her vision blinded by the emotion swimming in her eyes. She wasn't thinking, just acting. Wasn't imagining what the consequences of such a bad fight would be later on. Wasn't considering the fact that their son might be upstairs hearing every word. At the moment, she didn't care. She was just mad as hell.  
At last, Jonathan managed to grab her flying wrists, holding onto her until she stopped trying to hit him. Then, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, trapping her arms between them. She continued to struggle, her sobs muffled against his shoulder.  
“Martha, stop.” He held her tighter, “Sweetheart, its gonna be okay. . . .Just get it out.”   
“Noooo. . .” She moaned against his chest, trying to struggle from his iron grip.  
“You're just upset, honey. . .I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.”   
She slowly stopped fighting it, her chest aching with the deep sobs that were wrenched from her. She collapsed against his chest, dampening his shirt with her tears. They stood still like that for several minutes, until her tears had stopped. He patted her back and stroked her hair, but he seemed to have run out of words.   
At last, she leaned away from him, keeping her head down, “I need to call my dad.” She said, her voice rough, “I don't think I want to go out tonight.”   
“Martha, don't do this on account of me.” Jonathan's hands lingered on her shoulders. She brushed them away, moving around him into the kitchen where the phone was. She picked it up and dialed as she wiped the tears away. After she called her dad, she walked stiffly past Jonathan, ignoring the hand he put on her arm. She left the house and went for a ride, hoping the air would clear her head and put things back into perspective. 

~  
Martha opened her eyes again when Delia nickered softly, dipping her head to nuzzle Martha's shoulder. The horse seemed to feel her pain. Martha reached up and stroked her nose, “At least you don't talk back.” She whispered, looking into the mare's big, brown eyes.   
Wiping a stray tear from her cheeks, she turned and left the barn. She took her time walking across the snow covered yard, back the house. She looked up at the loft, noticing what she hadn't seen earlier in her anger. The light was on. She sighed with relief. The last thing she wanted was for Clark to have heard that argument. She and Jonathan hadn't exchanged words of that intensity in years.   
Martha almost dreaded walking back into the house, but she couldn't very well sleep in the barn. She hated the thought even more of climbing into bed with him that night. Whenever things like this happened, they both scooted the very edge of the bed, backs turned to each other.   
The house was dark except for the light from the fire. She slid from her snow-drenched coat and removed her boots. Walking to the kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee to warm her up and started into the living room. She didn't even notice Jonathan sitting in the recliner next to the fire, until she looked up. He leaned his chin on his knuckles, his face downcast as he stared into the flames. They flicked across his features, casting them half in golden light, half in darkness.  
Despite all the anger and the exchanged words, she felt a pang of regret go through her heart. Seeing his face, the broken expression, she immediately felt bad for treating him that way. She wasn't quite ready to confront him yet, so she turned and started to walk back into the kitchen, when she heard his voice, “Martha.”   
She paused, closing her eyes for a moment, “Yes?”  
“Come here. . .please.”   
“Jonathan, I don't want to talk about this-”  
“Martha, sweetheart, please,” He said, and it almost sounded like he was begging. There was no more fury, not more resentment lacing his tone. Just regret.   
She swallowed and slowly turned to face him. He was looking at her apologetically, his hand held out to her. Fighting back her pride, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. His warm hand wrapped around her cold one as he pulled her down to kneel in front of him. When they were eye level, he leaned forward. Lifting a hand to touch her cheek he whispered, “I want you to know how sorry I am.”   
She let go of her resentment, too tired to hold on any longer. She pressed her cheek into his palm, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, “Me too.”   
“I promise, next time I won't act like such a jackass.”   
She shook her head, “At least you weren't to blows.”  
“You know me. I'm of good, Kansas farmer's stock.” He smiled softly, “I barely felt it.”   
She lifted her eyes to look at him, hoping he saw all the love she felt for him in her gaze. Her heart picked up pace as she considered rescheduling their date for right here and now.   
He caught the look on her face, and she saw that sparkle return to his eyes.  
“Well,” She said, taking both his hands in hers, “maybe I should take a look anyways.”  
“Maybe.” He whispered back.   
She felt a smile forming on her lips as she slid backwards, pulling him down from the chair onto the floor with her. They knelt in front of each other, his hands on her hips as she opened the front of his shirt. When it fell open, she pushed it back to his shoulders, leaving his chest bare. He stripped the shirt from his arms, looking into her eyes with a playful smile, “Well, how do I look, Doc?”  
She placed her hands on his chest, sliding her fingertips softly downward, “You look good, Mr. Kent. . .Not a scratch on you.”   
“I'm glad to hear it.” He cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her hair. He slowly tilted her head back, and brought his lips to her mouth. The kiss was deep but slow, their mouths meeting, gentle yet passionate. His familiar taste filled her mouth, sending desire straight to her core. Warmth slid through her, especially hot between her legs. She moaned softly into his mouth, pressing hard against him.   
When their mouths parted, he whispered, “What about you? I didn't squeeze you too hard, did I?”  
“Maybe you should check me out, just in case.” She replied, her tone level with his.   
His hands, resting on her hips slid up, gathering the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms as he pulled the garment from her body. Her breasts strained to be free of her bra, her chest rising and falling steadily with growing arousal. His fingers smoothly opened the clasp and pulled the bra away from her.   
She gazed up at him, as his eyes took in the round fullness of her breasts, each capped by flushed, hardened nipples. He lifted his hands to take them, squeezing gently, yet firmly enough to excite her even further.   
“You look. . .” He almost choked on the desire, his thumbs rising to stroke her jutting nipples, “you look healthy enough to me.”   
“Enough?” She murmured.  
“Enough to make love to you right here.” He replied, his hands falling down the curves of her waist to her pants. He opened the front of them, pushing the material down from her hips, “If you'll have me, that is.”   
She looped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her as she helped him remove her jeans completely, “Don't stop, Jonathan.” She whispered into his ear, “Don't stop until we can't go anymore.”  
He gently lowered her to the rug in front of the fire, and tugged his belt open. He pulled his jeans off and joined her on the floor, his body sliding between her legs. He held her head in his hands as he leaned down to kiss her once more. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she held him to her while they shared another intimate, apologetic kiss. She clung to his back, her fingernails scraping over his flesh as she slid her hands down to the waistband of his shorts. He dragged his mouth away from hers, his breath warm and heavy over her skin. Mouth skimming downwards, he gathered her breasts in his hands, lifting one erect nipple to his lips. He took the sensitive flesh in his mouth and sucked, drawing a moan from her mouth. She gripped the cloth of his shorts and pushed them down, her body quivering beneath his when he moved to the other breast to dampen the opposite nipple. As soon as she got his shorts out of the way, she reached down to stroke him as he pleasured her breasts. He uttered a groan, the column of flesh going stiff in her palms.  
Mouth warm and stimulating, he kissed the valley between her breasts and then lower until he reached the waistband of her panties. She drew in a sharp breath when one set of his fingers found her center through the cloth. The material chafed against the hot, inflamed flesh causing her to moan aloud, her back arching, “Jonathan. . .”   
He massaged her for several more torturous seconds before he withdrew his hand to pull the scrap of cloth from her. He tossed the damp material away from them, his mouth quickly darting between her legs. He gripped her hips, tilting them upward until he was easily placing an intimate kiss to her womanhood. A shudder jarred her body, her legs falling open wider to allow him more room to pleasure her. She reached down to curl her fingers around strands of his blond curls, holding his mouth to her. She felt his lips part, his tongue slide out to stroke her, gently at first, and then bolder, drawing her to the peak of arousal. She writhed against him, her body taut with the impending pleasure, felt it already boiling within her like a storm building to its end.   
Her cry was strangled when at last she felt his tongue massage deeper until he had breached her. Touching her inside, he continued the slow and firm stroking, causing her body to throb heatedly. She could feel it pulsing through her whole body, spreading out like ripples from her center. Her hips began to undulate against him, aiding him in seducing her hot, quivering body towards completion.   
In the aftermath of their passionate argument, the fire of her desire burned even hotter, rivaling the flames next to them. The want sucked the breath from her lungs, heated her to the point of agonized throbbing, left her shaking and breathless. Stripped of every other emotion, she could only imagine one thing in the future of this tumultuous night. She wanted him to kiss her, touch her, love her until there was nothing left to separate them, until exhaustion took them to the calmer waters of sleep. It was an intense feeling of desire that she wished could accompany every night they shared together.   
Martha's muscles strained to keep her body moving as the pleasure slowly began to overtake her. The heat, the clench of it, spiraled deep in her stomach, hotly swelling her to the point of aching. She gave a tortured moan, gripping Jonathan's hair tightly, “Jonathan. . . Oh god. . . God, please. . .”   
He responded with a few firm touches against her skin where pressure points seemed to exist, releasing the building pleasure. She felt it burst within her, soaring through her body like finding that first climax anew. She convulsed, panting and crying out, as the pleasure shook her to the core. Jonathan didn't stop sucking on the tender folds of flesh, extending the orgasm, drawing every last drop of wetness her body offered from the tight confines of her trembling center.   
When at last it ended, she collapsed to the floor, her chest rising and falling sharply as she struggled to catch her breath. The exertion and the warmth from the blazing fire had laid a sheen of perspiration over her skin, and she lifted her hand to wipe it from her brow.   
Jonathan came back up next to her, pulling her into his arms to give her a moment's rest, “Jonathan, I. . .” She began, putting a hand on his chest.   
“Its okay, sweetheart.” He petted her hair, “We already said our apologies.”  
“I know.” She whispered, “I was just so wrong. . .I don't know what got into me.”   
“You were trying to defend your father and prove me wrong at the same time.” He said, softly, “It could make anyone lose control.”   
She felt a smile on her lips despite the guilt.  
“Now that we have that settled,” he said, shifting her to straddle his hips, “let's not talk about it anymore tonight.”   
“Gladly.” She murmured, lowering her head to kiss his mouth, gently. As their mouths met, she reached between them to join their bodies. She sank down, finalizing the deep connection they had always shared. Twin groans met in the air between them, their hands holding on even tighter to the other. Martha closed her eyes, focusing her mind singly on this moment in time, pushing the argument to the back of her mind. Tonight, this was all she wanted to think about.  
Martha felt Jonathan's hands on her face, “Martha, look at me.”  
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He held her face tight in his grasp, keeping his eyes steadily trained on hers. They didn't have to say anything. What they were feeling was already clear. The discord was behind them now; only unity was ahead. The strongest, most tangible form of unity between two people now joined them in front of the fireplace, the center of the home.   
Martha didn't close her eyes again. She held his gaze as their bodies moved together like two parts of one smoothly operating entity. Without thinking, she knew what to do to elicit a certain response from him, and he her. Without trying, they moved in the exact right way to bring the highest level of pleasure to the other. Nothing separated them anymore, nothing kept them from making each other happy.


End file.
